


An Honest Woman

by TiamatsChild



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Community: fma_fic_contest, F/M, Identity Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-20
Updated: 2013-04-20
Packaged: 2017-12-09 00:53:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/768083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TiamatsChild/pseuds/TiamatsChild
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If only this <em>were</em> an unusual occurrence… Something’s eating at Hohenheim.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Honest Woman

**Author's Note:**

> Written for fma_fic_contest at Livejournal, prompt 47, Freak. It took first place.

When Trisha Elric came back upstairs with two mugs of coffee, one black as the devil’s heart and sweet as love, and the other un-sugared and (from Trisha’s perspective) containing only homeopathic amounts of coffee in the milk, she found her lover standing by the window, his hands on the sill, his arms braced, his head hanging, every line of his body tight and sharp with tension.

It took a real effort not to sigh. It was way too early in the morning for this. 

“Hey, love,” she said. “I brought you your coffee.” 

She waited. Something jittery and cold was uncurling in her belly, and she thought about putting Hohenheim’s coffee down on the night stand so she could take a long drink of her own coffee and maybe the heat and the bitterness would force it back down. Hohenheim took a breath. The muscles in his back flexed, and she stood there, holding both mugs of coffee, her toes curling against the boards as if to cling.

“Trisha,” he said, in that way he had, that made him sound like a man lost in the high country during a snowstorm. “Trisha.”

She waited. She really wasn’t wearing enough clothes - only Hohenheim’s shirt from yesterday, the sleeves rolled up to above the elbow. She was starting to shiver. 

“Trisha, I don’t _exist_ ,” he said. 

She didn’t quite manage to stifle her startled laugh. Hohenheim tilted his head, but although she thought she saw him relax minutely he didn’t turn around. “You can’t mean that literally, or I’m going to have a cup of coffee I don’t know what to do with.” She smiled. He turned around, one hand still on the sill like he had to lever himself to move. “So why don’t you get back in bed with me and we’ll talk about it? It’ll be okay. Promise.”

“Trisha,” he said again, a few moments later, when they were back in bed again, mugs of coffee shared out, and she was resting half against his chest, head rolled back against his shoulder to look up at him. “I’m sorry. I should have known you wouldn’t be mad.”

“What brought this up, dear?” she asked.

“I can’t register with you,” he said, hoarse like he was inches from crying. “I want to, I do, but I’m not on record anywhere.” 

“Okay,” she said, and patted his knee, gave it a squeeze. “So we don’t. We don’t have to, we’ll just have to set up safeguards some other way.” His breathing still didn’t sound right “Hohenheim, honey, it really is okay. You don’t have to make an honest woman of me. I figure I did that already, all on my own.” 

He laughed then, and hugged her with his one free hand, curling about her as much as he could in this position, his nose in her hair. “Best woman I know,” he said.

“Damn betcha,” she said, because, after all, after a morning like that, she’d earned it.


End file.
